


Knife Called Lust

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Kinktober 2019 [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Kinktober Day 10: Hate Fucking, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 21:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Prompto likes to think he's a pretty average, chill guy.Well. Almost.





	Knife Called Lust

Prompto likes to think he’s a pretty chill guy most of the time, without a lot of noteworthy sins of which to speak. He doesn’t drink (alcohol doesn’t agree with him), smoke (Ignis does enough for him and Noctis combined) or get into trouble (or at least go causing it, sometimes trouble finds  _ him,  _ but that’s an entirely different problem). He’s pretty average, all things considered, and tries to be his best for Noctis and Ignis and Gladio. Tries to be a good Crownsguard, a good student, a good person. Most of the time, he likes to think he succeeds. 

But there is one weakness of his. One major flaw he’ll never tell anyone, not even on pain of death. 

“Do you think if you pant after them enough,” Verstael rasps in his ear, breath blowing hot over the marks he’s left on Prompto’s neck only moments earlier, “They’ll accept you? They’ll let you believe that you’re one of them, that you  _ deserve--”  _ He punctures the word with a sharp thrust “--to be one of them? Is that what you want to be? A Lucian dog, Argent?” 

Prompto bites his shoulder hard in reply, and feels blood burst across his tongue. Blood that he’s tasted a thousand and one times, and will taste doubtlessly a thousand and one more, because Verstael Besithia doesn’t believe in doing things by halves, and he doesn’t stop until he’s gotten what he wants, and what he  _ wants  _ is his son loyal and obedient and  _ perfect  _ for him, his pretty little boy to come home to and talk to about the Empire and all his coups to overthrow the Lucians from the inside, and not have him go running to his Lucian friends about it.

But he can’t have that, _ will never have that  _ because Prompto is loyal to Noctis. And so he doesn’t tell Noctis about this, about the rage his own  _ creator  _ brings about in him, a fury that is only satisfied when he throws his own words back, and gets Verstael so riled they wind up fucking like animals on his desk or in Prompto’s bed or on the living room floor. 

“But then,” Verstael hisses, and drives his hips in harder, deeper, and Prompto  _ hates hates hates  _ that it feels so good, that the fire in his lungs and chest and between his teeth seems to devour him and all it does is leave him aching for more of his father’s cock in him, more pain, more pleasure, more anger fed between them, shared between breaths and bites. “Aren’t you already a little bitch in heat, spreading your legs for whoever asks you?”

“At least they want me,” Prompto croaks. Verstael managed to get the upper hand, and he spent the first fifteen minutes screaming into the carpet while Verstael used him like a fleshlight. He’s come twice since, both times inside Prompto’s abused body, but all it’s done is made him angrier. How dare this bastard think he can mark him up like a fucking  _ possession  _ and get away with it? “At least I’m actually fucking a Lucis Caelum, at least mine didn’t  _ reject me--” _

Verstael’s hand closes around his throat, and he’s thrown up against a wall without ceremony, the passion in his thrusts enough to make Prompto’s toes curl. He claws ineffectively against Verstael’s hand, hating the fact that for just being a damned  _ researcher  _ the man’s got enough muscle to throw him around and fuck him cross-eyed. 

God Prompto  _ loathes  _ him.

“They don’t want you,” Verstael hisses at him. “They never will. They’ll play you for the fool, and then toss you aside the moment it’s convenient. But that’s fine, Argent, because I’ll  _ always  _ be here, waiting for the moment you crawl back and  _ beg  _ for my attention, for my  _ help,  _ because that’s what a good father does for their son, even when they’re being an insolent little  _ traitor.  _ You’re mine, and you’ll always be mine, no matter what that filth does to you, do you hear me?  _ Mine!” _

Prompto can’t speak, but he tightens down on the cock inside his body, and Verstael lets go of his neck to slap him, and Prompto  _ laughs  _ and pants, “I-I’m not the traitor here,  _ daddy.” _

He can’t tell who comes first, but Verstael pins him to the wall with his full weight, snaps teeth into his neck and  _ digs  _ as he comes, and even as Prompto struggles he can feel bruises forming from where Verstael is gripping his legs, where he has gripped Prompto earlier, and he can feel his father’s semen bloating him up, marking him in a way Noctis never will. 

He’s unceremoniously dropped to the carpet, and Verstael steps back. There’s blood on his lip where Prompto bit him, and several bite and claw marks across his body where it looks like he was mauled. In addition to his ass leaking cum on the floor, Prompto can imagine he’s going to have bruises and bite marks all across his body for the next several days. Gym is going to be awkward. 

“Traitorous child,” Verstael snarls.

“Bastard parent,” Prompto sneers right back. 

They go their separate ways, doors slamming and showers running. Prompto turns the water on as hot as it will go, and just sits in it until it goes cold. Tomorrow he’ll greet Noctis, and put bandages over the bite marks and claim the scratches were from a cat he met on the street. Tomorrow Verstael will ignore him for the entire day, or until Prompto loses his temper because of something he’s muttered under his breath about Noctis or sneered about on the news, and they’ll wind up getting in another screaming match that will escalate until Prompto’s getting the life fucked out of him again, even as they still argue. 

It’s certainly not the life a  _ normal, perfectly chill guy _ should have. Not a life a friend of the Prince should have.

And that’s why nobody can ever know. 


End file.
